The Evolution of the Mind Palace
by ThoroughlySherlocked
Summary: Inside his mind there is a palace. Inside that palace there are many rooms.Within the largest room is a throne.Upon that throne is a king.His Mind Palace is eternally transforming. It is like a pool of water, clear and sharp and vacillating. But the Throne Room rarely changes. And when it does, so does its Ruler. Based off of Upon This Throne. Rated T because I'm overly cautious.


DISCLAIMER: Nope, still no. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. Based off of Upon This Throne.

_Inside his mind there is a palace. _  
_Inside that palace there are many rooms._  
_Within the largest room is a throne._  
_Upon that throne is a king._

His Mind Palace is eternally transforming. It is like a pool of water, clear and sharp and vacillating. But the Throne Room rarely changes. And when it does, so does its Ruler.

He first built his Mind Palace when he was a mere child of seven. It started out as a safe haven, a place to retreat when the world was tormenting him, gradually escalating towards a storehouse for his considerable wealth of knowledge.

It begins as a spacious flat, lined with velvet and wallpapered with pirates and fantasy and deductions and whispered conversations at night. Mycroft is the king at that point, seated on an ashen throne; Sherlock holds him level with the God he does not believe in.

When he is fifteen, people call him "Freak." They whisper behind his back that he is a male prostitute, that he has no family because he murdered them, that he is a cold-blooded killer. They think he has no feelings.

That is not the case. He has feelings; he just doesn't show them. He obeys the King and the King only, and the King hisses into his brain, "Caring is not an advantage."

They fight him, what else will they do? He puts up a good front, but in the end he is outnumbered. In the distance, there is Mycroft- his brother's idol, elevated to a God's position in Sherlock's mind. He begs for help, for Mycroft to pull them off him.

Mycroft stands there, hands on hips, and does nothing.

Sherlock's Mind Palace undergoes a transformation that day. Mycroft's throne room is thrown into the dungeons, where all the things he doesn't want to know but has to reside. Sherlock forgives him in time, but Mycroft is never the King again.

When Sherlock is twenty four, he discovers cocaine. The throne room is blindingly white; bitter pills of insults and keen observation knives decorate the walls. She is painful to look at, he decides, with her hair dyed the colour of needles and her nails sharp as razor blades and her white, blood-stained dress.

But Lestrade finds about Her. He tells him to get clean; Sherlock has no choice but to do so- though reluctantly. When it is a choice between the Queen and the Work, the Work always wins. He aversely demolishes the Throne Room, shoves it down above Mycroft's, there if he ever needs it.

He resolves to never go back to Her room –or his Queen, for that matter,- when he meets John.

They meet in a lab at Saint Bart's –Sherlock is surprised that John isn't put off by him as so many others have been. He decides to give this one a chance and puts John-facts into a separate room- more than most people get with him, in fact.

That day, he creates a new throne room. It is made of iron resolutions and cloaked obsessions and whispered deductions. It is papered with yellowing newspaper clippings, indigo deductions, and grey Tchaikovsky and lit dimly.

Sherlock likes this new room very much.

Then he meets the Woman, tries to crack the difficult enigma she poses. She gets a room as well; she briefly reigns over his Palace. Her room is silvery grey and black, covered with spatters of maroon blood.

He deletes that room, shoves it down to sub-basement floors. The old Throne Room, with its deductions and Tchaikovsky and clippings, comes back. Upon the throne is a brain. Sherlock picks it up and admires it, the way the impulses flash through at lightning speed.

He decides to never have another ruler- until that night in Baskerville when he tells John that he doesn't have friends, he just has one.

He is on a case, he doesn't retreat into his vast ocean of knowledge and glimpse the amalgamation.  
He senses that something is off, but he doesn't know what.

It's not until he's in the lab at Saint Bart's that he realises what it is. He bounces a rubber ball and enters his mind palace and sees the anomaly.  
His throne room has merged- now case clippings are tacked alongside university photographs, glow-in-the-dark stars drape themselves over Tchaikovsky, and praise and complaints are combined with deductions. The Throne Room has two thrones now. One is golden yellow and honeycomb shaped, the other sleek and linear and black. It scares him more than the time John was about to die, more than the fear-drug at Baskerville, even more than the Final Problem.

What he sees astonishes him. It takes his breath away.

He stands o  
n the ledge and stares at John, wonders if this is how it will end. Drops of crystalline liquid drip down his cheeks and cluster in his eyelashes as he makes out John getting out of a cab. Is this how he'll die?

He retreats into his Mind Palace (wasn't it always meant to be a fortress between him and the complexities of the world?) and jumps.

_Inside his mind there is a palace. _  
_Inside that palace there are many rooms._  
_Within the largest room are two thrones._

_His Mind Palace is eternally transforming. It is like a pool of water, clear and sharp and vacillating. But the Throne Room rarely changes. And when it does, so does its Ruler. _

_The first throne is sleek and linear and black, perfectly contrasting with the fleshy pink of the brain. The second throne is of honeycomb structure, and upon it sits the true King. He is small and compact, but quick and strong. Instead of teeth like daggers, he offers rowan safety. His Throne is decorated with medals and tea, and he is Sherlock's King. _  
_Sherlock loves them both._


End file.
